


The Illusion of Chains

by HyJackedYerFandom



Category: Captain America, Harry Potter - Fandom, Iron Man - Fandom, The Avengers (2012), Thor - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyJackedYerFandom/pseuds/HyJackedYerFandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cellmate number 848243 – formerly known as Harry James Potter.”  The Muggle dressed wizard read off from a form in his hand.  “My name is William Coulson, I’m a representative of the American Embassy with the International Confederation of Wizards.”  A slow, devious smile drew upon his features.  </p><p>“I received your owl.”</p><p> </p><p>(Hiatus, January 2015)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plots Within Plots

“On this 7th day of August in the year 2010, we have found accused to be guilty of the crimes of fear mongering, riot incitement, use of Dark Magic, and treason against the British Ministry with intent to corrupt custom and tradition.  We, the members of the British Wizengamot, do so forth sentence the war criminal known as one, Harry James Potter, to eight years in Azkaban, under the tender mercies of Dementors.”

The sentence was read out in a monotone voice, seemingly uncaring of the roars of the crowd gathered behind the accused.  Unable to tell fury from joy, the accused merely stood in the center of the room, shackles on his wrists and ankles, the weight of the chains making his back bow in the effort to stand up.  Long, tangled, dirty hair hung in uneven mats around his ears and face, the rags on him showing obvious signs of overuse and tears.  He wore no shoes, his feet dirty with the residue of the cell that had been assigned to him for his stay in the Ministry.

It was four months after the fall of Voldemort.  He had spent the last three months and 29 days under the constant watch of Aurors and the Ministry.  A Ministry who was so desperate – yet again – to be seen doing something, that they had arrested Harry Potter mere hours after the defeat of the Dark Lord.  While the Aurors had attempted to treat him with humanity and dignity, the Ministry officials were merciless in their efforts to make Harry Potter into the enemy of the British Ministry.

During the time spent in the Ministry cells, he had been allowed visitors and had quite a few; however, only few were of major note in his life.  The Weasley’s, McGonnigal and Professor Flitwick, Hermione and Ron had visited, each of them mourning in their own way the disgrace that was the Ministry and their plans to see him liberated.  However, one of the more important visitors was a representative from Gringotts.  Despite the fact that he had broken into the bank itself, and managed to steal the Horcrux in Madame Lestrange’s vault, the majority of the board of Gringotts held little rancor against him.  Instead, he had made a deal with them.  For not telling anyone how he, Ron and Hermione had broken into Gringotts and being bound into a binding agreement so Gringotts could disclose the information only to their security in an effort to prevent other break ins, they would continue to handle his accounts and his financial future. 

During these visits with the Gringotts advisors, they informed him that while they governed the Wizarding World’s monies, they were under no obligation to follow Ministry regulations.  They were an entirely different entity, completely independent of the Ministries of the world.  In the end, what had been worked out was that even if Harry was to be convicted of these trumped up charges, his money, properties and artifacts would not, and could not be seized by the Ministry in any form.  The most they could do was put a freeze on the accounts so no one could access them for the length of his incarceration. 

He’d prepared for any eventuality.  He knew he’d have no choice but to complete his incarceration; but in the end, they couldn’t tie anything life-time worthy to him.  He would serve his time, get out, and leave Britain.  He could file for a change in citizenship and simply abandon Britain to its own devices. 

So instead of railing against the fate that the ‘esteemed elders of the Wizengamot’ had now handed him, he simply stood there, quiet against the outcry of the public behind him. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Harry Potter?” Came the Chief Mugwump’s voice, somewhere in the shadowy alcove where the panel had sat in darkness throughout the entire farce of a trial.

“I do.”  He rasped out, his voice rough from disuse. 

“Proceed.  Your last words of this trial will be accordingly recorded in the files,” said the court reporter.

He thought a moment, and instead of the well thought out speech that he’d worked out should this moment arise, the words spilled out of his lips with a strange mixture of a smirk and a sneer on his face.

“This Ministry is afraid of me.  I have seen it’s true face.  The streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are full of blood; and when the drains finally scab over, all of the vermin will drown.”  The world around him went silent as everyone strained to hear Harry Potter’s last words.  Only the few Muggleborns and Halfbloods in the crowds recognized the dark quote dripping in bitterness and scorn.  “The accumulated filth of all their sex, and murder and corruption will foam up about their waists, and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout ‘Save us!’” 

Harry Potter lifted his head then, staring through the shadowy screen that secured the identities and faces of his accusers and the Wizengamut.

“…and I’ll whisper ‘no’.”

 

 

 

~<@>~

 

It took a year and a half before his plans came to fruition.  He’d sat in the dank, dark, dirty cell with meager rations for food and the nightly visitations of the Dementors to cap it.  He’d lost what little weight he had managed to put on and now stood a stark skeleton in rags, in the center of the dark cell of his prison.

It was a slightly redeeming thought though, that the Ministry was unable to snap his wand due to the fact that he would be ‘returning to society’ after his sentence was up.  However, what was perhaps more intriguing was the fact that he could still perform magic within his cell.  At first, he had been riddled with disbelief at the naivety and ignorance the Ministry displayed at not placing a magic suppressor on his person to disable the ability to access his magic.  After the first few weeks of being able to train his magic to his own liking, however, those feelings were swept away with an urgency to strengthen his wandless magic, and move forward to wordless.

It was during a self-training exercise that he’d concocted – creating a small dust storm from the dust and dirt within his cell to see how long he could hold it before it dissipated – when he heard a duet of footsteps coming down to the 7th floor cells.  Quickly, he waved a bony, thin hand and the magic melted away, and he waited, keeping his eyes trained on the bars of his cell.

Into view, carrying a lamplight, was a guard in navy blue robes – designating him as an Azkaban lower level guard – and a wizard he’d never seen before.  In a Muggle style suit, crisp shiny black shoes and a proper muggle haircut.  Raising an eyebrow at this newest development, Harry simply waited.

“Here he is, Ambassador.  Don’t know why you want to see the likes of him, filthy traitor.”  The guard said, spitting at Harry’s general direction.

“Yours is not to question why, yours is but to do or die.”  The ‘Ambassador’ said to the guard, speaking with a distinctly American accent, waving his hand at him.  “Leave us, Auror Millson.  This is a private conversation.  I’ve leave with your Ministry to speak to him without a guard.”

As the guard huffed and muttered, but still walked away, the Ambassador took out a wand and waved it absently, muttering a spell under his breath. 

“There now.  No little bugs or spies can listen in on our conversation.”  The Wizard said, putting his wand away and taking out a stand of forms from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Cellmate number 848243 – formerly known as Harry James Potter.”  The Muggle dressed wizard read off from a form in his hand.  “My name is William Coulson, I’m a representative of the American Embassy with the International Confederation of Wizards.”  A slow, devious smile drew upon his features. 

“I received your owl.”


	2. Say Something On Giving Up On You

It was 10 am on February 13th, 2012 when the wizard formerly known as Harry Potter stood in front of the ICW. He still wore his Azkaban striped robes, dirty and grungy despite the best efforts of Britains Aurors to ‘clean him up’. His hair was still a ragged mess, and still he had no shoes.  


Before him sat a monstrous panel of Witches and Wizards – all a part of the ICW – in plush armchairs, of varying nationalities and cultures. When he had sent the owl, before his incarceration, to the American Embassy, he had rather expected the whole process to take at least four years. Maybe even more. But it seemed that the American Ministry had a slight problem in the Colonies, and they wanted Harry’s input on it. At the moment though, that was neither here nor there.  


“This ICW congregation is brought to order. American Ambassador William Coulson has the floor.” The Supreme Mugwump called to order with a tap of his wand on the pew in front of him.  


To his left, William Coulson stood up, looking rather plain and forgettable in his khaki green robes. Smiling at the ICW in general, he motioned to where Harry stood, apparently patiently waiting for acknowledgement.  


“I bring before you a wizard wronged by his own country.” The words fell on the silenced room like cannons on an invaded shore town. “Harry Potter; convicted by the British Wizarding Government for treason, fear mongering, riot incitement, and use of Dark Magic. His trial was already over before it had begun. But we already know that.” At that, the British contingency looked furious and outraged however said nothing.  


“As you know, we currently are having problems in our neck of the world. Strange things are happening, things that not even our finest mages can figure out. Our Muggle counterparts are forming a team of their strongest warriors. My government is offering a full pardon and compensation for time served for Harry Potter, in return for his aid in these endeavors.”  


“Impossible!”  


“British Ambassador Horace Fudge, it would behoove you to remember protocol in these proceedings.” The ancient Supreme Mugwump drawled out with a raised eyebrow. “This August Panel has not recognized your right to the floor.”  


“My apologies, Supreme Mugwump.” Horace Fudge, Harry pondered his relation to the Minister of Magic of the British Isles – Son? Nephew? – whichever it was, he looked nothing like good ol’ Cornelius.  


Thick, auburn hair, piercing blue eyes and a warm, if abashed smile, this man ruled the politics of his role, rather that the Minister, who let the politics rule him. He aimed that bashful grin at the Supreme Mugwump – where Harry frowned slightly again, his mind struggling to keep up with all these changes. Who was this Supreme Mugwump? He certainly wasn’t British, Harry thought, staring at him through bleary eyes. Ancient, yes, with white hair and brown eyes, but his skin was dark – Middle Eastern, if Harry didn’t miss his guess.  


“However, the American Embassy cannot offer a full pardon and this compensation, as the British Isles have already convicted him for the crimes the American Ambassador listed.”  


“However,” William Coulson interrupted, standing firm and tall from his podium and staring at the British Ambassador with unconcealed dislike. “In the months of his imprisonment, before his farce of a trial, Harry Potter filed for immigration papers through our branch of Gringotts. Just before his sentencing, these papers were approved, granting him dual citizenship. In which case,” William strode around the podium and presented the papers to the Supreme Mugwump, who adjusted his glasses and peered at them inquisitively. “He should have been given American representation as well, not to mention, his trial should have taken place here at the ICW rather than just in Great Britain. A serious miscarriage of justice, that.”  


“These are dated the day before his sentencing. On what grounds were these papers process so expeditiously?”  


William Coulson opened his mouth to reply, but instead, it was Harry Potter who uttered the damning words.  


“I defected.”  


Dead silence rang in the room at this declaration. His voice was rusty and hoarse, but the words themselves were clear and concise.  


“Young man, are you aware of what defection entails?” The Supreme Mugwump looked over his glasses at Harry, serious and imposing. “You will be giving up everything within the British Isles, family, friends, and your society.”  


“I received a mockery of a trial after the defeat of Voldemort, and during my incarceration I received substandard care. It was advised by my Gringotts advisor to apply for citizenship with the Colonies, through defection.” Harry said emptily, dully, as if the process itself had taken something vital from his soul.  


To defect from your Magical Country was a complicated and arduous process. In its simplest terms, a wizard cut his or her magical ties with their sovereign nation, and changed it to another. It left the nation behind in a state of chaos, tearing their magical signature from the fiber of its stores. In a way, all magic in a country was pooled; it was like an energy source for the country’s wards, for the success of businesses’, for the economy doing well. For someone to defect, was effectively cutting your magic off from that battery of magic, preventing your own magic from being used to aid that country in any way. Cutting all ties and bonds also meant that they couldn’t contact you, or ask for your aid in any further problems of developments.  


“What about your properties, your money? Your artifacts?” Ambassador Fudge said, looking pale and sick. “You’re just going to throw all of that away?”  


“I didn’t. Before I was incarcerated, I gave my permission for my advisor at Gringotts to liquidate all of my assets or gift them to my friends and those I claim as family. As far as the artifacts, items and money, they are safely waiting for me in the American branch of Gringotts in a vault.” Harry spoke, staring at Ambassador Fudge with vacant eyes. “So you see. There is nothing left in Wizarding Britain for me except more time under a sentence that I am undeserving of.  


“I saved you.” He said simply, moving to the British panel on the ICW, and them moving on to the other countries that would have been affected by Tom Riddle’s insane rise to power and domination. “I killed your Dark Lord, saving all of your lives in the process. And because you had to be seen as doing something productive, doing something that promoted the Ministry of Magic in a good light, you sentenced me to live with Dementors until you could do damage control to your image.”  


“America honors its life debt to the wizard known as Harry James Potter.” This statement from Ambassador Coulson made the British panel turn white in shock and many of the other countries shift and murmur softly.  


Harry liked to think it was an approving murmur.  


“China honors its life debt to the wizard known as Harry James Potter.” A short, ancient woman in beautiful red and gold robes with a Chinese Fireball stitched in golden thread along the shoulders stood, and the rest of her cabinet stood as well.  


As one, they all bowed deeply.  


“Canada honors its life debt to the wizard known as Harry James Potter.” A burly black man in vibrant purple robes, his eyes a startling green that Harry could see even from this distance.  


His smaller cabinet also stood to their feet.  


Not to be left out, a great number of other societies stood to their feet, thoroughly shaming the British Wizarding Government.  


A sudden loud, tapping sound rang out in the chambers. Everyone turned their attention to the Supreme Mugwump and his own personal cabinet. After those that pledged their acknowledgement of the life debt owed finally sat, the Supreme Mugwump got to his feet and looked to the captivated court.  


“It is the ruling of this August Body that the wizard known as Harry Potter has, indeed, been wrongly imprisoned. In response to this heinous abuse of power, the British Governing body will compensate him for his time spent in Azkaban to the amount of 70,000 galleons. 10,000 galleons per month of his imprisonment, and also to be granted another 70,000 galleons for his intense pain and suffering.”  


At this, the entire British cabinet roared to their feet in rage, even as the other panels nodded in agreement with the amounts given. Horace Fudge was purple in the face and that brought a smile to Harry’s face. Now there he saw Horace’s resemblance to Cornelius Fudge.  


“As for the Wizard Known As Harry Potter,” The Supreme Mugwump said loudly over the din. Harry winced at the implied capitals in the new title. “His defection has been granted. The ceremony for Nationalization will commence on American soil by the next New Moon. The ICW extends their condolences and sympathies of this miscarriage of justice to Harry Potter and wishes his endeavors to be blessed and fruitful.”

~~

Things moved much more quickly after the ICW’s ruling. There was a heady sense of freedom as Harry went about recovering from Azkaban. Ambassador Coulson had had everything ready for Harry’s arrival; a modest safehouse within the Soho district of New York. From the back room window, Harry could see a massive tower being built, and often wondered what was going on with the building site.  


Harry had been given a chance to change his name along with his nationality, but Harry had turned it down. It was easier, and to be honest a bit vindictive of him, knowing that the British community was furious with THE Harry Potter’s defection from their soil.  


The home that the American Ministry had provided for him was wonderful, and lovely. It reminded him of Grimmauld Place, in the sense that it was a townhouse that appeared between two bracketed numbers and appeared once he needed it. The furnishings were sparse and universal all over the house; the knobs in the kitchen were the same on the drawers of his dresser and nightstand. It had very little personality, but then, Harry hadn’t been in it for very long.  


The townhouse had been given to him, without any reservations or ideas for repayment, which pleased Harry in a way. His inheritances hadn’t had any property in the colonies, so he would have had to spend months searching for a home.  


Physically, he was a mess. The long term starvation he’d suffered from in Azkaban, on top of the long term malnutrition and starvation from the Dursleys had wrecked his immune system, and he was weaker than a new born kitten. The American Ministry had already lined up a mediwizard to take care of his immediate needs, and correct as much as possible with potions and healing spells.  


Mediwizard Gleeson was a rough, no nonsense healer who brooked no fools. A short, slightly squat woman in her early 60’s, she had short steel gray hair that she often wore in a spiked style that made her look like a pissed off dandelion. Her clear blue eyes (thankfully) had no maddening twinkle, and though she had laugh lines on her face, she didn’t appear to be a very happy person.  


Harry adored her.  


So he’d been given potion after potion after spell after spell and often felt a bit like an experiment. But despite her gruff nature, Mediwizard Gleeson was very focused on his care and getting him well again. She was hypersensitive to his situation, and Harry often wondered if he could just send her to Britain for vengeance. Between potions and regular exercise, he’d actually managed to gain weight, and had also begun physical therapy. Over the last 3 months, he had gained 4 stone, putting him at a thin, slender 10 stone weight. Or rather, he ought to use Americanisms such as he’d gained 25 pounds, putting him at a thin, slender 140 pounds. He had grown a little, but he would never reach a decent height. His final height was at 5ft 8in in height.  


His hair had grown longer in his captivity, brushing the middle of his back in a straight black sheen. He’d had to hack off a good five inches in order to fix the damage, snarls and split ends. Washing for the first time after so long in Azkaban was disgusting; he’d had to take three showers in a row just to get the dirt off of his skin and hair.  


Clothes had been purchased with built in hemming and sizing charms. He actually enjoyed the clothes he’d received, not really recognizing a lot of the brand names but enjoying the quality of them anyways. Mostly in dark clothes, his shirts had no slogans on them which pleased him. He felt so removed from the muggle world after so long within the wizarding world that he would understand a lot of the slogans anyways.  


He’d had a few visitors throughout the month; Hermione and Ron had visited briefly to reassure themselves that he was alright. Hermione had been making noises about moving herself to the United States, and Ron seemed to be following the same thought process. Then there were the visits from Gringotts – the American Branch – in the form of his new account manager Ungar. All of his heirlooms and monies had been transferred successfully, and the British Ministry had actually paid him the amount that the ICW had demanded to be paid. The properties had already been either liquidated or given as various gifts.  


All in all the goblins of Gringotts were very pleased with his move to America. They’d made quite a tidy sum with the transfer of his account, as well as the income from the fees and taxes.  
Ambassador William Coulson had also come to visit and while the visits were few, they were also very looked forward to; Harry knew that he wanted something from Harry, but was hesitant to ask just yet, so for now they just had tea and talked about Harry’s recovery. While it was different, being cared for and wanting him well, he’d much rather have known what else was required of his time. He just wanted to be left alone for now. And he had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the case with whatever Ambassador Coulson wanted from him.  


Harry often went out during the day, enjoying the sunshine while he could, even if it was a bit cold since it was just barely spring. He’d seen the sights of Times Square and Madison Square Gardens; he’d even fallen a little in love with Chinatown. Soho had a feel all its own though, and Ambassador Coulson had told him that it was because a large population of New York City’s wizarding community lived there.  


He was toying with the idea of getting a new familiar, though he was rather loathed to get one after Hedwig. He still mourned the snowy owl something fierce; maybe he’d get a nice snake this time. Snakes were rather amusing with their snarky ways.  


It was during a physical therapy session being overseen by Mediwizard Gleeson when Ambassador Coulson floo called.  


“Good morning, Ambassador Coulson.” Harry panted, wiping his forehead with a towel.  


“I apologize for the sudden interruption-“  


“Please, interrupt away. I could use a little break from this torture.”  


“Brat.” Muttered Gleeson.  


“I would like to bring over two colleagues of mine, Mr. Potter. Would that be permissible at this time?”  


“If you give me a half an hour, I can finish this set, and have showered. I’d rather not entertain visitors in sweaty clothes.”  


“That would be acceptable. See you in a half an hour.”  


With that the Ambassador was gone. Harry turned to Mediwizard Gleeson and scowled up at her, even as she scowled back at him. He knew he still had another ten minutes left to the set, and she was putting him through his paces. They both, strangely enough, seemed to know when to push and when to pull.  


After the set was finished, Harry made his way to the master bath and showered quickly. Despite being in the safe house for three months, he’d yet to get used to the extravagances of the building. He’d not even relaxed in the luxurious bathtub, instead sticking to his showers in the large stall with its three shower heads and glass doors. After getting clean, he stepped out and immediately warm air turned on while he stood on the bathmat, drying his skin without towels. Waving his wand (and thank Merlin that he’d gotten that back before he’d left Britain – he’d have been royally pissed if it had been ‘lost’), his hair fell in a simple braid away from his face and down his back.  


The bedroom was just as extravagant as the master bathroom, with a large king sized bed (thankfully without curtains, he rather liked the open feel to the bed) and walk in wardrobe. But despite its extravagances, it was still without personality as he wasn’t sure if he’d be staying there or not once the therapy was done. Without really looking at what he grabbed for clothes, only knowing that the pants were black and had about a million pockets and the shirt was a tightly knit black sweater, he pulled them on. He finished the simplistic outfit with black socks and black lace up boots that went to his shins and over the bottoms of the pants.  


He made his way down the stairs to the first floor, hearing voices in the sitting room, and so he headed in that direction. He paused in the doorway, quickly assessing the men standing beside Ambassador Coulson. One man was obviously a relative of some sort, with close cropped hair and a slight receding hair line. He had blue eyes that were assessing him just as fast as Harry was them. He was neither short nor tall, skinny nor fat. He just was. And Harry found himself rather liking the man. He wore a simply nondescript suit with a pair of sunglasses tucked into the front breast pocket.  


The other man, now he was dangerous. Not to say that the Coulson relative wasn’t dangerous, in his own way he was, but the tall black man with a shaved head and an eyepatch on his left eye was deadly dangerous in a way that large cats were. He wore an outfit that actually resembled the one Harry wore, but a black knitted turtle neck and a black duster jacket thrown over top.  


“Good afternoon, Harry.”  


“Ambassador Coulson.” Harry replied back with a head nod in the man’s direction.  


“This is my cousin, Phil Coulson, with SHIELD, and his director Nick Fury.”  


“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter,” Phil said, reaching out to shake his hand.  


“Likewise.” Harry said, and turned his attention to Nick Fury, who was watching him with his single dark eye intently. “Director Fury.”  


“Mr. Potter.” Fury said, shaking the young wizards hand. “I find myself wondering just how accurate of an account of the final battle with Voldemort was. If you are, in fact, the man for the job we require.”  


“I can tell you that the papers from Britain are most likely to be faked, and I’m not quite certain I follow you. What job are you talking about?”  


“Faked? Faked how?” Phil Coulson said.  


Harry rolled his shoulders in a slight shrugging fashion, scowling slightly as he remembered.  


“They have painted what I did in a poor light, in an effort to make their own contributions greater than they were. The fact of the matter was that while I had the talent and the strong magic needed, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere I needed to be without my friends. There was nothing in the battle that had Ministry involvement. They were ashamed at having to be saved by four 17 year old children.” Harry said.  


“Four? I thought you only had two other friends with you.” Agent Coulson asked.  


“I did. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were with me for the majority of the battle. But I wouldn’t have been able to kill Voldemort without the help of Neville Longbottom killing Voldemort’s Horcrux Nagini – his snake familiar.” Harry explained, tacking on the last bit when the men before him looked a little confused. “So I wouldn’t have been able to do half the things I did without their help and involvement.”  


“A good answer, Mr. Potter.” Fury said with an approving nod. “I am the director of SHIELD – Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. I am putting together a team of powerful people who can work together to combat any crisis’s that occur for our nation.”  


“Powerful people? Other wizards like me?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the tall man before him.  


“I can safely say that you are the only wizard we’ve considered, and we have been looking closely at the wizarding population for the last three years. While I can’t tell you exact details, I can tell you that you might be the lynchpin of the whole operation in an effort to protect us from catastrophe.” Fury replied.  


“Mr. Potter, it may or may not matter to you, but I’m a squib in our family. But while I am a squib, I’ve been able to make the most of my life for this cause, and I’ve close ties with the wizarding population. Your abilities make you a singularly unique candidate for our team.” Phil Coulson said, sharing a look with his cousin.  


“What’s your take on this, William?” Harry asked, looking at the ambassador.  


“I can’t tell you to take the position, or not to, Harry. While I think it might be a benefit to this cause to join and protect the United States from attacks, both foreign and domestic, I’ll not pressure you into it. It’s your choice.”  


The room was silent for a moment, before Harry turned to Nick Fury again.  


“What exactly are we talking about here? Terrorists? Another Dark Lord?”  


“Hopefully nothing of that nature, I think one Dark Lord is one Dark Lord too many and thank god you were able to get rid of him.” Fury snarked. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news reports of New Mexico concerning Thor, or even Iron Man.”  


“I’m sorry, I haven’t. I’m not the t.v. type, and I’ve only been out of Britain for a month.” Harry said.  


“Right.” Fury was nonplussed at that but continued on doggedly. “Thor is an Asgardian, basically he’s an alien from Asgard, the home of Norse mythology. His father, Odin, kicked him down to here, which was called Midgard, to teach him some humility. Loki, Thor’s brother, decided he wanted the throne of Asgard and sent a Destroyer to New Mexico to take his brother out.”  


“You’re kidding…” Harry said, gaping slightly.  


“Is it really so hard to believe? You can shoot living flames from your wand and yet the idea of the Norse God of Thunder is beyond the realm of your imagination?”  


Harry snorted with a dry smile.  


“Hardly. It’s more a disbelief that sibling rivalry is so universal.”  


Phil cracked a slight smile, and even Fury let out a huffy laugh.  


“Tony Stark, more commonly known as Iron Man, was once a weapons expert, with contracts to the Department of Defense. On a tour to promote the latest weapon he’d created, he was captured by insurgents but not before becoming injured from an IED.”  


“IED?” Harry asked, asking for clarification.  


“Improvised Explosive Device. And in reality, it was his own weapon that injured him. It created shrapnel that was constantly moving to his heart and if it reached there, it would kill him. A different scientist, who was kidnapped as well to help Mr. Stark with what the insurgents wanted, basically hooked him up to a car battery to prevent it from reaching his heart. The insurgents wanted Mr. Stark to build a weapon for them, that would give them the advantage with conquering areas. Instead, Mr. Stark built an arc reactor, which replaced the car battery in protecting his heart. Mr. Stark and this other scientist built an iron suit that ran off of the arc reactor, that he used to escape. Unfortunately, the other scientist died in the process, protecting Mr. Stark. Since then, Iron Man has been protecting the United States from terrorists and even rogue scientists that try to take on the United States.” Phil explained.  


“So…let me get this straight.” Harry said after a moment. “You have Iron Man already defending the US, but you need more people? What about this Thor guy?”  


“He returned to Asgard, but we have it on good authority that he will be trying to return here.” Fury said.  


“Alright…but you already have Iron Man. Why try to form this team?”  


“Because there will always be an evil trying to take over the United States, even the world. Thor’s appearance in New Mexico made it glaringly obvious that we are not alone in the universe, and we are vastly outnumbered in power and technology. I’m trying to form this team so that we can fight these instances to protect not just the United States, but the world.”  


Silence met the men as Harry thought on this. He’d always intended to join the Auror Corps when he finished with the war. Maybe this was the next best thing. Although he wasn’t completely certain he wanted to fight anything anymore, he knew that he couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to stop himself from protecting people. His Saving People Thing was rather annoying.  


“When do you need an answer?” Harry asked, looking at Fury intently.  


“Sometime within the next week. I’m hoping to utilize your skills on a magical artifact we’ve recovered from the Antarctic. I have one of my best scientists on it, but I’d like to have a magical person check it out as well.” Fury said.  


“I’ll have your answer in four days.” Harry said.  


With a nod to Ambassador Coulson, and a hearty handshake to Phil Coulson and Nick Fury, the conversation ended and his visitors left. He needed to think. Walking towards the front door, he grabbed his winter jacket and slung it around his shoulders, buttoning it up absently. Locking the door behind him, Harry walked the streets of New York City. The city was full of all kinds of people, and he’d like to think that it was worth saving. He saw children playing in the playgrounds of various schools, people rushing here, there, everywhere for groceries, to reach the market for food, bank runs… The whole city was alive and thriving.  


Though he told Fury that he needed four days, Harry already knew his answer. Something in his gut, whether it was his magic or just his instincts, told him that this was the next step in his life. He could either get on the step and keep moving, or stay stagnant and rot away. He intended to really utilize the time between now and when he’d give Fury his answer well, plotting out the pros and cons of joining this team he was making.  


Four days wasn’t very long, but it was long enough to really consider his options. It was just too bad that he wouldn’t get those four days. Fate just loved to fuck with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapter is short for a reason. I promise there's more later.
> 
>  
> 
> My test results have come back conclusive. Those of you who've contacted me to ask symptoms and ask after my health, thank you for your concern. I begin chemo next week, I ask you bear with me. I've decided to put up just about EVERY story I've ever worked on, finished or not (most often not since I get distracted easily). It's my hope that if I can just get them out and on here, that if the worst happens, someone might be inspired and write on for it.
> 
> Survival rates look promising, we caught it early, but I still worry as with my family history survival is grim. I ask you to be patient, keep me in your thoughts, and to keep reading. Thanks.


End file.
